Remembrance of Times Yet to Come
by Earendil Eldar
Summary: Jack is put out about being "summoned" to London for meetings with T1, but there is something worth his while there. (This story is expanding and twisting in some new directions all of a sudden - hold on for a ride!)
1. Chapter 1

Jack hated London. Well, parts of London. The bars were good. But then there was Torchwood One. Now, _that_ he hated. And Whitehall. And just about everybody who thought they could tell Jack Harkness a thing or two. Or thought they could demand he come in personally, then make him wait four hours between meetings.

Jack stalked out of Canary Wharf in a huff, intent on getting something to eat and a couple pints in him before he had to look at Hartman again. As he was leaving, a smart-looking young man hurried passed him – walking, briskly, not running. Jack tried to remind himself how much he thoroughly hated everything to do with Torchwood One, but he seemed to be taken by a wild hare and decided to follow the cute bum in the grey worsted wool suit.

Jack figured four hours wasn't quite enough for anything really fun, but a bit of eye-candy couldn't hurt and would certainly make the rest of the day more bearable. Jack followed casually as the young man lead the way several blocks to a small, cosy, dimly-lit art gallery. Jack stopped for a long moment as he walked into the building. It was like stepping back in time a hundred years… again.

He spotted the man in grey again, who now looked relaxed, in his element, warm even – despite the damp, cold afternoon outside – slowly, studiously making his way around the art exhibition. Jack didn't approach him or even get too close. For once, he decided to hang back and just look. Jack didn't even actually see the man's face straight on, only caught glimpses at his profile. Still, Jack could tell by the small smile that played at the corners of his mouth which paintings were his favourites.

There was a certain sadness to that smile when the young man stepped along to look at a Van Gogh. He stayed looking at that piece for a quite a while and Jack's thoughts wandered, making up a story, a life for the mysterious Torchwood One stranger. Welsh accent, for sure. Jack had become rather used to that. Made incredible coffee (well, he'd have to, wouldn't he?) Normal life outside of Torchwood… and that of course was how Jack knew it was just a "story."

Now and then Jack had to ask himself if he still even had a concept of a normal life. He tried to keep up on the whole idea so he'd be ready when he finally caught up with the Doctor. What would "normal" be to someone like that man, Jack wondered? Returning to a nice home (after a day of getting frustrated by Torchwood 3 and their usual 'cowboy' approach to Rift issues), maybe an adorable little girl running to greet her daddy, carrying her into the kitchen to get a kiss from his….

Jack shook his head when he envisioned himself there doing the cooking.

"Yeah," Jack muttered to himself, "not in this universe."

Jack gave one last glance to the back of the man who had moved along to study a Rubens. Glancing at his watch, he still had more than 3 hours to eat and drink enough to stand talking to Hartman. Best get to it, Jack figured, and headed back out of the gallery into the cold London wind.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling. For as trying as his meetings with Hartman had been, he still couldn't get the thought of that sharp-dressed man at the gallery out of his mind. It was starting to bother him now. Why should some guy with a nice ass be so stuck in his mind? He appreciated the sight of a gorgeous bum at least a dozen times a day, but none of them captivated him so entirely – at least, none he hadn't actually talked to, dated, or shagged.

And what the hell was up with that domestic little day-dream? Jack hadn't entertained delusions of domesticity in decades. He knew better.

"Damn it," Jack growled. It just wasn't leaving him alone. There was only one thing for it, he decided, getting up and dressing.

Half an hour later, Jack walked passed the queue at the door to the club, smiling at the bouncer as he went inside. Half an hour beyond that he was being slammed against the wall in the gents and receiving a rather thorough examination of his back molars.

Several hours later, Jack woke from a disturbing dream in an unfamiliar bedroom. He tried to piece together what happened in the dream to figure out what had prompted it. All he remembered was a man's painful cries. Nothing he hadn't heard dozens of times, sometimes even caused when necessary. But this was different… this was worse, somehow. Something told Jack this was happening to someone he loved so deeply it tore him in two.

The fact that he felt like that when there was nobody like that in his life annoyed him and, though he wouldn't admit it, scared him. It annoyed him even further that he woke up next to someone he knew nothing about, only reinforcing the fact that he couldn't hope to have something so deep as what he'd felt in that dream, even if it had been painful.

Shaking his head, Jack got out of bed and dressed without waking the other man. He left a brief note, then hurried away. It occurred to Jack as he headed back to the Hub that maybe those bastards at One had slipped him something experimental. It wouldn't be the first time they'd tried to crack the Harkness enigma. He'd raise a hundred levels of hell if that was the case. Maybe he'd take a run out to London again just to test them….


	3. Chapter 3

_This story is suddenly going an unexpected direction. Hold on ;-)_

* * *

**Year: 4104**

_Accepting Human Bookings – beginning Spring 4104_!

It was a bit ironic to find a flyer for "escape pods" on a table in the bar of a local cluster cruiser. Escape pods – coffin-esque capsules that allowed the user to "live" whatever life they fancied for the duration of their pod-booking – were only recently approved for human use. Several other species had been using them for centuries, but human governments were stubbornly old-fashioned.

Of course, just because human bookings were being accepted didn't mean most humans could even vaguely consider going for one. They were expensive. A three hour, full-sensory experience started out at 500-credits. For comparison, the hypervodka in front of him was a quarter-credit.

Knocking back the rest of his drink, Jack picked up the flyer and walked the two miles to the pod palace. He asked to speak with the senior sensory specialist and within an hour had transferred 1.5 million credits for a year in a pod. He knew exactly how he'd be spending that year. Jack almost laughed when he thought of the look Ianto would have given him if he'd known Jack had just spent what would have been about 30 million pounds. Ianto was always so practical….

After going through all preliminary requirements, physical and psychiatric evaluations, interviews and orientations, Jack took his sensory specialist aside and had her draw up a contract. After the first year, Jack authorized renewal of his pod booking every year indefinitely. As long as his bio-readings were still reflecting a positive overall mood, Jack wanted to live his experience for as long as possible. It would be 33 years before he'd even spent a billion credits. There was no problem there.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack woke up in a place he'd never been before, but knew immediately that he was at home. It was sunny and there was a nice warm breeze against his skin. The bed was warm. He closed his eyes again and just lie there. He felt perfect, sleepy and blissful.

After a couple minutes he heard soft steps outside the room and cracked one eye open to see… of course, the love of his life… in nothing but an unfastened red dressing gown, with a couple mugs.

"Hi," Ianto said, setting the mugs on the nightstand, dropping the robe, and climbing back into bed, leaning back against the 'tufted' headboard (Ianto refused to refer to it as 'padded' because that sounded pornographic).

Jack wrapped his arms around Ianto's waist and buried his face against Ianto's stomach. "I love you," he whispered.

Ianto grinned affectionately and stroked Jack's hair. "Yeah, I know," he said, taking his mug and sipping at it. "I'm more than reasonably fond of you as well."

"I had a weird dream," Jack said.

"Just now? I didn't think you were out long enough for a dream."

Jack shrugged. "Yeah."

"What was it? Old Torchwood stuff?"

"I don't know. I kind of think it was. I mean, it seemed Torchwood related, but just a dream, you know? Nothing that really happened."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really. I think I lost you. Went for centuries alone…."

Ianto rubbed at Jack's neck. "Oh, Jack. It's ok now. I'm not going anywhere. Not ever."

"Yeah. I'm glad," Jack said, pushing himself up to sit beside Ianto and get a kiss.

"Well, hey. If you have to live forever, no point doing it all alone, yeah?"

"Yeah, tell me about it. You don't ever regret it, do you?"

"How could I regret it, Jack? We've got each other. And I'm always going to love you. It actually couldn't get any more perfect."

"Just checking. I know you never had to deal with it – and never will – but it was pure hell for me for at first. I don't ever want anything to hurt you."

"I wish it hadn't been that way for you either. But then, I wasn't born yet," Ianto smiled, tugging Jack into a hug.

"Worth the wait," Jack smiled back. "And if that coffee perks me up again, I'll be more than happy to show you how worth it it was."


	5. Chapter 5

"Pack some things," Jack said seductively, hands running down Ianto's chest from behind as he nipped at Ianto's neck.

"Be good. And why?"

"_Not_ good, and because we're going away for our anniversary."

"Oh?"

"Uh huh. I always wanted to take you to Metebelis III, and 59103rd anniversary is the blue-planet anniversary…."

"Is that a fact?"

"Well, since we're the first couple – in this universe – that's ever been married 59103 years… it is now. Anyway, go pack."

"Ok," Ianto smiled. "Weather?"

"Basically… perfect. And constant."

"Sounds good. Just…."

"Just what?"

"Well, for one thing I can't bloody well pack with your arms locked around me."

"And another?" Jack asked, not letting go.

"Can we stop on the way?"

"Don't see why not. What did you have in mind?"

Ianto turned around in Jack's arms and slipped his own arms around Jack's waist. "Today. 59103 years ago."

Jack held Ianto a little tighter. "Well… we'd have to be careful."

"Naturally."

Jack closed the space left between them with a sweet, short kiss. "You're not packed yet."

"I'd noticed," Ianto smirked, returning Jack's kiss with a much longer one.

"Keep kissing me like that and we'll be late for our own wedding," Jack said.

"Says the man with all of space and time on his wrist."

"I may have space and time on my wrist, but I've got everything else in my arms right now."

"So have I," Ianto whispered. "And I still love you more every single day."

"Let's go to the wedding now… we'll come back and pack after, ok?"

"Yeah, let's go," Ianto nodded.

Jack pulled back just enough to access his wrist strap and type in coordinates. Wrapping his arms around Ianto again, he pressed the button to send them off as he sealed his lips over his husband's.

* * *

**59103 years earlier**

"God, we were gorgeous."

"_Are_ gorgeous, thank you very much."

"Are, indeed. Except, I didn't have this second grey hair back then."

Ianto rolled his eyes, then took a deep breath. "I'd forgotten it rained that morning. That petrichor smell about the garden."

"I hadn't," Jack said softly. "Every time it rains in the morning after a dry spell I think of this day. Happiest day of my life."

Ianto choked back a sniff and said, "I'm glad you wore the dress uniform. That tuxedo wouldn't have suited you at all. And I'm reminded of today every time -"

"You're not meant to be guests at your own wedding."

"Doctor?"


	6. Chapter 6

"You aren't meant to be here, Jack."

"Yeah, I know, Doc. Look, it's our anniversary. 59103 years. Just a little walk down memory lane, that's all. We're keeping back."

"You don't _belong_ here, Jack."

"We probably should get on, if we're visiting Metebelis," Ianto said. "Haven't packed yet."

"And _you_, especially, shouldn't be here."

"What's the problem with me being here?" Ianto retorted.

"The problem is none of you should be here!"

"Doctor!" Jack hissed. "Keep it quiet – they'll notice us. I don't need my wedding day rewritten…."

"They won't notice anything because they aren't there and we aren't here and none of this ever happened."

Jack and Ianto looked at one another. "I think your mind is still regenerating, Doc. You might want to have a holiday until it's done." Jack hoped this latest regeneration wasn't going to finish up as dotty as he seemed by the time he was done 'cooking.' "Anyway, come on, Yan. Blue-planet anniversary awaits."

"Only it doesn't," the Doctor insisted. "It's only in your head. He's dead, you're vegetative and hooked up to technology that should never have been approved for little human minds, and I'm only here because I'm fantastically clever and managed to _hack_ myself into your subconscious 'dream-world' experience."

Jack eyed the Doctor carefully. This was barking, even for the Doctor. Best to get the hell away from him, Jack decided. "Let's go, Yan," Jack said, reaching for Ianto's hand and flipping open his manipulator to press the "Home" button.

"His regenerations take more of a toll every time, I think," Jack said sadly. It wasn't easy to see someone so brilliant in decline like that. "Well, let's get packed. I'm dying to show you Mete-"

"It's not real!" the Doctor shouted, appearing in the doorway to the kitchen. "He's _dead_. He's been dead for millennia and you refuse to cope with that! You're lying there now, in some sensory pod, having some 'experience' that you've paid handsomely for – and don't think it's lost that you've been doing the same thing at every intergalactic pleasure-center you've passed since fleeing earth in 2010. Your 'coping mechanism' is an addiction, a damn pathetic one."

Jack's face darkened. "Get out," he demanded lowly. "Get out of our home, right now. I'm sorry if this is the result of your regeneration going poorly, but that gives you no right to stand here and put your delusions on me – on us. Get out, Doctor. You've never done a solitary thing for either of us, we don't owe you. Go!"

"Jack…."

"I'm sorry, Ianto, but I'm not going to let him talk to us like -"

"Something's wrong, Jack. Something's…. What does he mean I'm dead? How can I be…?"

"Of course you're not. You're fine, obviously. He's sick, it's the regeneration or he got unlucky on the mind of this one or something."

"But something feels wrong, Jack. I never realized it before, but now I think it's always felt that way. Something about me… isn't right. I don't feel… I don't know who…."

"That's because You're. Not. Real," the Doctor said, pointing at Ianto. "You're a creation of his mind, based on memories and dreams and wishes and regrets. And guilt. Mostly guilt."

"Don't you dare!" Jack hissed, only just holding himself back from beating the Doctor into another regeneration. "Don't you _dare_ ever talk to my husband like that! He is the only thing in my life that has always been real – and he's a _lot_ more real than you, especially at this moment."

"Jack…? I'm not… we haven't really been…. We don't have an always, I've only existed… a few years – when you signed up for that pod thing."

"No! He's nuts, don't listen to him. Everything he says is a lie – and _always_ has been! Don't ever listen to him, he's a monster who tears peoples' lives apart and never stays around to deal with the aftermath."

"But it's true, Jack," Ianto whispered. "Look at me. Look into my eyes. I'm not him, I've no soul, no _animus_. All I am is what you remember loving. Not all your memories, not even all the love in you for him can make him real again."

"Stop. Just stop it…. Please, stop…," Jack begged as Ianto sank into the nearest chair, looking somehow _grainy_ and indistinct, like an old half-memory.

"**What have you done**?" Jack roared at the Doctor.


End file.
